we all have so many important stories to tell and it is not often enough that we get to tell them. how often have you been asked to tell someone about a certain time in your life? the only stories we ever hear are those of the very old. and that’s not because only the very old have interesting stories, often enough their stories are ordinary, overheard or boring, but we listen. because for some reason we have decided that the years in their stories garner some sort of respect that makes us sit down and listen, interesting or not. and sometimes, they tell great stories, other times, we have to fight falling asleep. but, i think the important part is not in the hearing of the story, but in the telling. we all need an outlet where we can tell our stories and have someone hear them. an allotted period of time where we can feel that our experiences (however painful, inspiring, momentous, or insignificant) served some purpose. we shouldn’t have to wait until we’ve reached a certain age to start having people pay attention when we share our lives.
not just words. February 13, 2008
she retold the story. coldly, without expression. a story that maybe they hadn’t heard before, despite all the different stories she told. But, an important story. one of the most traumatic stories she knows about those days. and as she told it, she couldn’t believe how detached she was. usually the mere mention of that day brings a shiver down her spine and tears to her eyes. today, though, she must have needed the four years between her and that moment. today, if she could have told the story in third person, as if it hadn’t happened to her at all, she might have felt more emotion. instead, she sat with her back to a wall, knees pulled into her chest, staring into the empty space, and she spoke words. words, that’s all they were. separate, meaningless words, that as far as she could tell, didn’t even fit together well enough to tell the story of that day. when she was done, when there were no words left in the story, she felt like she hadn’t done the experience justice. the girl in the story felt cheated. like she had been part of some news report that contained only facts and no substance. and she wanted it to have more meaning than just that.
